


Exchange Students

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Mirror Universe, This Time Round Metaverse (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-27 14:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13883193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: As ever, sometimes the hardest part of school is just getting through the day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a couple of prompts from the [Ersatz Genremixer](http://www.seasip.info/Misc/genremixer.html?people=Jamie:Sam&cpp=2&tpp=0&prompts=10&tl=6&nsfw=false):
>
>>   
> Sam / Jamie - highschool au & mirrors and doubles  
> Jamie / Sam - experiments by evil scientists & highschool au & electricity  
> 

"But why don't you tell the prefects?" Gwendoline Lacey asked, as the group descended H G Wells High School's principal staircase. 

"Because I need to find out what to tell them first," Patrick Doctor said patiently. "There's no point in going to them with half a story, is there?" 

"Like that stuff about noises in the boiler room," Samantha said. "The ones you thought were bears." 

"They were bears!" Gwendoline protested. 

"I know, but no-one would've believed that until we got some proof, would they?" 

"But this is different. If there's someone creeping about in the physics lab in morning break..." 

"There is," Gia Kelly said flatly. "For the last three days at least." 

"Well, if you told the prefects that, they'd believe you. And look into it." 

"But if we sort this out ourselves it'll be so much less trouble for everyone," Pat said. 

"Except perhaps us," Jamie said. 

"Well, we're uniquely qualified." He patted Jamie's shoulder. "You might almost say we're experts." 

"Experts at getting into trouble, anyway," Gia said. 

Pat raised a warning finger to his lips. "Sssh! We're getting close. We don't want whoever's in there to know we're coming." 

The group's final approach to the lab was conducted on tiptoes, with Patrick directing them by means of hand signals. Having reached the lab, they flattened themselves against the corridor wall on either side of the door. It was clear that whoever the mystery intruder was, they were hard at work; blue light was flickering around the edges of the door, and buzzing, crackling noises tickled at the edge of hearing. 

"One." Patrick whispered. "Two. Three!" 

He flung the door wide, and rushed into the room, his friends close at his heels. The sole figure bent over the workbench looked up. 

"I don't believe it," Samantha said, in disgusted tones. "All that drama and it's just Ted Maxtible playing mad scientists." 

"I'm not playing!" Ted protested. "This is a serious experiment." 

"You shouldn't be fiddling about with that Jacob's Ladder," Gia said. "You know we're not allowed to touch that." 

"And what's he doing with a mirror?" Jamie asked. 

Ted's expression was turning more sullen by the minute. "Roger sold me an old car radio," he said. "I'm trying to get it to work. That's all." 

"If it was Roger he probably nicked it," Samantha said. "What about the mirror, then?" 

"That's so I can see the lights on the front of the radio while I'm working at the back, of course. Now will you all please leave me in peace?" 

"Certainly not," Pat said. "Not until you've put that ridiculous machine back where it belongs." 

He reached for the Jacob's Ladder. Ted reached for it at the same time, giving it a sideways impulse that nearly sent it over the edge of the workbench. 

Instinctively, Jamie dived forward to catch the teetering device— 

Samantha grabbed at him to try and pull him away— 

The Jacob's Ladder toppled, its sparking wires coming into contact with the surface of the mirror— 

A spinning haze of light enveloped the workbench— 

And then, as the bell shrilled for the end of break, Jamie and Samantha weren't there any more. 

❂

There were grey clouds, a long way away, in front of Samantha, and wet grass behind her. 

"What the Jennifer Clunwick just happened?" she demanded of the Universe in general. 

Beside her, there was a groan. "Where am I?" Jamie's voice asked. 

"Dunno." She was lying down, that much was clear. Carefully, she pulled herself up into a sitting position. There were the school buildings in front of her, but there was something wrong about them she couldn't quite place. Then, as she looked down at herself, she realised that wasn't the only wrong thing. 

"Hey, Jamie," she said, turning to look at him. "Look at our uniforms." 

Jamie sat up in turn, and cautiously raised a hand to the badge on his right-hand breast pocket. It was a shield, split down the middle into yellow and purple halves, bearing the letters G and H. 

"They're not our uniforms," he said. "Hey, my kilt's turned into trousers! What's going on?" 

Samantha had turned her attention to the satchel hanging over her shoulder. "Dunno, but all this stuff is for someone called Cleo," she said. "Except whoever Cleo is, she's got the same handwriting as me. Is there a name in my blazer?" 

Jamie turned her collar down. "Aye, Cleo Briggs. What about me?" 

"Hamish McCrimmon," Samantha said, having made a similar investigation of Jamie's blazer. "Jamie, I don't think we're in Kansas any more." 

"I expect it's one of those mirror universes," Jamie said, climbing to his feet. "That'd explain your shirt." 

"My shirt?" Samantha, who'd been feeling a vaguely chilly sensation around her midriff, looked down at herself. Sure enough, her blouse ended with an elaborate knot just below her breasts, leaving a substantial gap before normal service resumed with her skirt. 

"Maybe it's just a fashion thing," she said, trying to convince herself as much as Jamie. "You know, a sexy new look, sort of thing. It doesn't have to mean we're in a mirror universe." 

"No," Jamie admitted. "But that isn't all. Look at the school." 

"Yeah, what about it?" 

"Shouldn't the clock tower be at the other end?" 

"Of course it..." Samantha tailed off. "Oh, jumping jiminy. You're right, Jamie. The whole thing's back to front."


	2. Chapter 2

If the reversed school buildings hadn't been enough to convince Samantha, she'd received further evidence that they were in a mirror universe as soon as she and Jamie had reached the main door. Deputy Headmaster Maxil had been standing just inside, chivvying latecomers to their respective lessons — and unlike the Maxil they knew, he was sporting a toothbrush moustache. 

It took Samantha longer than she'd expected to find her way to the classroom; the layout of the building was tantalisingly familiar, but the mirror inversion meant that she kept turning right where she should have turned left, or _vice versa._ When she did reach the right classroom, apart from it being a mirror image, it differed only in minor details from the one she knew: the windows were grimier, the seats more uncomfortable, and a nauseating odour of stale vegetables hung in the air. Samantha had barely had time to take her seat and open her — or Cleo's — satchel, before the teacher had arrived. 

"Now, class," Miss Oswald began. She was dressed in a severe black suit, trimmed with red, and holding an undeniable cane in her left hand. "Today we will be resuming our study of _Pride and Prejudice_. Where had we got to? Yes, Nancy?" 

Samantha would have named the girl who had raised her hand as Ted Maxtible's sister Ruth, but as she already knew, names seemed to be one of the first things to change between one universe and another. 

"Book Two, Chapter Eleven, miss," was what Nancy said. 

"Quite. Now, I want you to pay special attention to what Darcy and Elizabeth have to say to each other, as well as what they do. Tori, perhaps you'd like to start us off?" 

For a moment, Samantha struggled to place the busty, arrogant-looking girl with the leather jacket and bobbed hair. Then Tori began to speak, and recognition struck Samantha like a blow. This was the counterpart of Victoria Waterfield, no less. 

"'When they were gone,'" Tori began to read, in Victoria's cutglass tones, "'Elizabeth, as if attempting to exasperate herself as much as possible...'" 

⁂

"'The tumult of her body,'" Samantha read, "'was now painfully great. She knew not how to support herself, and from actual weakness sat down and cried for half an hour.'" 

Miss Oswald, who was looking somewhat pink in the face, ran a finger round her collar. "Stop there. Thank you, Cleo. Now, class, what did you notice? Nik?" 

Nik, a lanky blond youth with a greasy ponytail and oil stains on his cuffs, gave a panicked look as if he'd been unexpectedly dropped into the _Mastermind_ chair. "He spanked her, miss," he managed, after some thought. 

"How perceptive of you," Miss Oswald replied in biting tones. "Considering the prominence given to it in the text. Anyone else?" 

A girl who might have resembled Zoë, had Zoë had bleach-blonde hair, scarlet lipstick and a Birmingham accent, raised her hand. "She could sit down afterwards, miss. So he couldn't have hit her that hard." 

"Remember, I told you to look at what the characters _say_ , not just what they _do_." 

Samantha decided to make a suggestion. "She said she wouldn't marry him." 

"Exactly. Why not?" 

"Because..." Samantha thought back over the chapter, trying to not to dwell on the more lurid passages. "She thought he'd sell her down the river. Like he did to Wickham." 

"But he could do what he wanted with her anyway," Nancy objected. "He could've just grabbed her and dragged her off to his lair. No-one would've stopped him." 

"A good point, Nancy," Miss Oswald said. "Why do you think he didn't?" 

Tori raised her hand. "Because that wouldn't be winning, miss. Not for him. He wants her to say yes and mean it." 

"And there you have it." Miss Oswald rose to her feet, as the distant tolling of the bell was heard. "Tomorrow, we'll be looking at how various adaptations have treated that scene." 

"I expect she'll be watching them on a loop this evening," Tori remarked to Samantha, as they left the classroom. "I have no idea why she finds that ancient smut so thrilling. It's terribly tame stuff." 

_That's not what I'd have called it_ , Samantha thought. But she decided that remark was better kept to herself. She made a noncommittal reply instead; Tori, who seemed fond of the sound of her own voice, didn't seem to notice. 

"Fire and death, I'm starving," she said cheerfully. "I wonder what slop they're dishing up for lunch?" 

⁂

To begin with, Tori and Samantha had had the table to themselves; a number of people had tentatively approached, but in each case a single ice-blue stare from Tori had been enough to send them scurrying away. Presently, the party had been joined by the blonde Zoë-alike, who apparently rejoiced in the name of 'Slash', and smelt strongly of cigarette smoke. 

"You're late," Tori said, as Slash took her seat. 

Slash cringed. "Sorry, Tori. Only Nik really wanted to see me." 

"Behind the bike sheds, of course," Tori said. "Boys always do. You shouldn't give in to them so easily. Or stick to girls, like Cleo does. They don't muck you around, do they?" 

"Not if I can help it," Samantha said, inwardly struggling to process this latest piece of information about her counterpart. 

"Quite. That girl Lucie in the Lower Third's still got the black eye you gave her." Tori smiled sweetly. "Ah, here's Jezebel." 

Jezebel, a punk Isobel with spiky orange hair, sat down beside Tori with an elaborately casual slouch. "Food any good today?" she asked.

"Disgusting as ever." 

"I suppose you get what you pay for," Samantha ventured. 

"Or in your case, what the kiddies pay for," Jezebel said, with a grin. "Be careful you don't take too much off them. If they actually start starving even old Powell's going to notice." 

Samantha was quite relieved that her mouth was full of borderline-rancid cabbage leaves, since it eliminated any requirement to answer that. 

"Oh yes," Jezebel said, digging in her blazer pocket. "You might like these." 

She slid a couple of Polaroids across the surface of the table to Tori, who glanced over them, then looked more closely. Setting her knife and fork down, Tori turned her cold blue eyes fully onto Samantha. 

"Cleo," she said sweetly. "You never told me you'd been with Hamish in morning break." 

Samantha gulped down the cabbage, which fought every step of the way. "Didn't I? I must've done." 

"You most certainly did not." Tori's voice was positively dripping with sugared ice. "Cleo, you know that I consider you a dear friend?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I would hate for you to be the cause of any friction between Hamish and myself. Surely there is nothing that you cannot say to him in the presence of me and of my friends?" 

Attack, Samantha decided, was the best form of defence. "What's it to you?" 

Distantly, she was aware of Slash and Jezebel edging their chairs slightly away from her. 

"Cleo," Tori said, still in the same sweet, level tone. "If you know what is good for you, you do not interfere with my possessions. It would be much safer for you to confine your attentions to the fairer sex, as hitherto." She calmly picked up her spoon, dipped it into her bowl of rice pudding, and flicked a blob into Samantha's face. "Keep your nose clean, Cleo. I trust that we understand each other." 

"Yeah," Samantha said, trying to ignore the sensation of rice pudding sliding down her cheek. "I get you." 

"Splendid." Tori passed her a paper napkin. "Wipe your face, Cleo. I don't know if you've noticed, but you've got something on it. Just here."


	3. Chapter 3

As Samantha came out of the dining hall, she looked around for Jamie, but it was clear that Tori had already secured him; she was close beside him, gripping his arm a little more firmly than might be considered appropriate for mere friendship. Slash and Jezebel, who seemed to constitute Tori's retinue, were keeping close guard on either side. 

With a scowl, Samantha turned away. As she did so, there was a nervous tap on her shoulder. 

"Cleo, could I have a word?" 

Samantha, who'd jumped at the touch, tried to force herself to be calm as she turned to see who'd approached her. To her surprise, she found herself looking at a familiar face: that of Gwendoline. Compared to the girl in Samantha's universe this Gwendoline looked somewhat thinner and more worn, but compared to how different Tori and Slash were, she was a positive double. 

"Sure," Samantha said. 

"Not here. Somewhere private." 

Samantha nodded, and let Gwendoline lead her the short distance to what, in her home universe, would be the school chapel. It turned out to be one here, too. At the first glance, it looked reassuringly normal; Samantha had been half-expecting bones from sacrifices, or severed heads on spikes. It took a second, longer look, for her to pick up details like the huge, stylised sword on the reredos instead of a cross, or the fact that the angel supporting the lectern had a cat's head. 

Samantha took a seat near the back, and motioned Gwendoline to take a seat beside her. 

"What did you want to say?" she asked. 

"Um..." Gwendoline looked positively terrified. "I mean..." 

"Come on, Gwendoline, spit it out." 

Gwendoline took a deep breath. "You're not the real Cleo, are you?" 

"What?" Samantha tried to keep her composure. "Why d'you think that?" 

"Three reasons." Gwendoline seemed a little calmer now she'd broached the topic. "I'm sensitive, you know. To... body language, I suppose you'd call it. You look like the real Cleo, even sound like her, but you don't move like her. She struts; yes, I think that's the right word. As if she's not afraid of anything." Gwendoline swallowed. "Except Tori, of course. Everyone's afraid of Tori. 

"The second reason is if I'd spoken to the real Cleo like I'm talking to you I'd be on the floor by now and she'd be kicking seven kinds of slok out of me." 

"Bloody hell," Samantha said. "What was the other reason?" 

"You called me Gwendoline." 

"That isn't your name?" 

"It is, but I don't use it at school." Gwendoline shivered. "Life's hard enough here without people thinking I'm a stuck-up little ma'am. So I go by Wendy." 

"Right. Wendy. Got it." Come to think of it, Gwendoline's accent did sound rather more Estuary than her counterpart's back home. "I'm Sam," Samantha said, and stuck out her hand. 

Gwendoline didn't take it. "And why are you going round pretending to be Cleo?" 

"It's not like I had a choice. We just got dumped here. I don't even know where 'here' is, except it's GH something." 

"Grade Hill. Our headmaster's Mr Powell." 

"Doesn't ring a bell." 

"Where are you from, Sam?" 

"It's called H G Wells High School. And how I got here... I suppose you could say it's a mirror universe, if you know what one of them is." 

Gwendoline nodded. "That makes sense. A parallel universe where everyone's different somehow. Even the initials: H G instead of G H. Is your world better or worse than this one?" 

"Better. This is definitely the evil universe. Sorry." 

"Don't be. It's not your fault." Gwendoline finally took Samantha's hand. "Is there one of me in your world?" 

"Yeah." 

"What's she like? If you don't mind my asking." 

"She seems a bit... I dunno, dim. Compared to you, I mean. Or maybe lazy, like she never takes the trouble to understand something properly." 

"I can see that. Maybe that's how I'd have been if I hadn't come here. You need your wits about you to survive in this place." She nodded at the statue of the cat-headed angel. "As Tevildo said, 'He that seeketh power must first gather knowledge.'" 

"Yeah, we say something like that in our world." Unbidden, the image of Jezebel handing snapshots to Tori at lunchtime flickered across Samantha's consciousness. "Is that why everyone's so scared of Tori? Because of what she knows?" 

Gwendoline shuddered. "She's got the dirt on everyone. _Everyone_. And nobody knows where she keeps the evidence. Not on her, and she doesn't take it home. Eric Klieg tried grabbing her on the bus and searching her." She shuddered again. "He's never been right since. And Mr Robson broke into her locker and it wasn't there either. The next day he was arrested. Is there a Tori in your world?" 

"Well, there's a girl who looks like her. But she wouldn't hurt a fly. I'd never believe she could be anything like Tori." 

"And I find it hard to believe there could be a nice version of Tori." Gwendoline looked around nervously. "We'd better not stay here too long. Tori might start wondering where you are. Was there anything else you wanted to know?" 

"Slash. That isn't her real name, is it?" 

"No. I don't think anyone knows her real name. Not even the teachers." 

"So why do they call her Slash?" 

Gwendoline grimaced. "It's better that you don't know. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick." 

"Right." Samantha cast around for another subject. "I can't place Nik. What's his surname?" 

"Kelly. You mean he doesn't exist in your world?" 

"Kelly." Samantha snapped her fingers. "I knew that ponytail was familiar. We've got a girl called Gia instead of him. Is Nik into engineering?" 

"I suppose so. He's got a motorbike he's always tinkering with." Gwendoline rose to her feet. "And now I really must run along. Stay here a minute or so after I've gone. It's better if no-one sees us together. Oh, and good luck for rugby practice this afternoon." 

"Rugby?" Samantha echoed. The entry on the timetable in Cleo's satchel had merely read 'Games.' "Is that what we're doing?" 

"I'm afraid so," Gwendoline said. "Here's hoping we survive it." 

⁂

Samantha was halfway to the locker room when Jamie caught up with her. 

"You've had no word from home?" he asked. 

"None," Samantha replied. "You?" 

"Nothing. Sam, what'll we do if they can't get us back? These people everyone thinks we are — Hamish and Cleo — we canna go to their homes. And as for Victoria— Tori—" 

"I know." Samantha squeezed his hand. "She's pure poison, isn't she? Listen, we need to make sure she doesn't see us together. She's got a down on me already because she thinks I'm trying to nick you off her." 

Jamie's mood seemed to lighten momentarily. "And you're not?" 

"I can't be, can I, you divvy? You're not hers in the first place." 

"Tell that to her." Jamie's brief smile faded. "She kept asking me if I'd sold anything. I couldnae make out what she meant." 

"Drugs, probably." 

"That'd make sense. I found some pills in the satchel." Jamie's worried look deepened. "It's not safe for you here. I'm thinking if we can't get back by tonight we'll have to make a run for it." 

"This is Otherside," Samantha said gloomily. "D'you think it's any safer out there than in here?" She caught sight of her watch. "Got to go, I'm nearly late for rugby." 

She covered the rest of the distance to the locker room at a run. It did not improve her composure that Jezebel arrived mere moments later, sadly shook her head at Samantha, and plunged into a whispered conversation with Tori. 

⁂

Even if Samantha had been an enthusiastic player of Rugby football, the waterlogged field on which the girls assembled would not have looked the slightest bit inviting. As it was, with a gentle mizzle falling and a tendency to sink to one's ankles should one stand in the same place for too long, Samantha thought it looked like bleak misery made manifest. 

"Right, you lot!" Samantha recognised the voice as that of Mr Pink. She looked round, to see that unlike her home universe's version, this one had a neatly-trimmed goatee. "Let's get you moving—" 

He broke off, at the sound of a shriek followed by a squelch. Samantha looked back at the players, and found that Gwendoline was now sitting in a puddle with a miserable expression on her face. 

"Wendy, of course," Mr Pink said. "One of these days it'd be nice to get through a lesson without one of your pratfalls." 

"Someone pushed me, sir," Gwendoline snivelled. 

"Good for them if they did. Maybe you'll learn some grit." 

_So much for any help from him,_ Samantha thought, as the girls went through their stretches and twists. _Survival of the fittest, I suppose he'd say._ She glanced at the group, their yellow-and-purple rugby shirts already soaked by the rain. _Or maybe he just gets off on torturing us._

Once the girls had completed their warm-up exercises, Mr Pink promptly picked out two captains — one of them Tori, of course — had them select teams, and launched the group into a full-scale match. Samantha, relying on vague memories of rugby league matches she'd seen her brother watching on TV, tried to hang back and keep out of trouble, but to no avail; she found the ball thrown to her, caught it, and was promptly tackled headlong into a pool of freezing sludge. 

"I told you to keep your nose clean," Tori's voice whispered in her ear. "Maybe this'll help you to remember." 

Samantha felt Tori's hand on the back of her head, and her face was pushed deep into the mud. She squirmed, trying to break free, but could gain no purchase in the slippery ooze. 

"Next time it'll be head first down the toilet for you," Tori added, emphasising her remark with a further shove. Then she let go, and Samantha managed to raise her head and spit out a mouthful of mud. 

"Well played, Tori," Mr Pink's voice called, somewhere in the distance. "Cleo, stop rolling about in that puddle and get back to the game." 

With her hair matted with mud and her face burning, Samantha gritted her teeth, scraped muck from her eyes and staggered to her feet. The end of a games lesson had never seemed further away.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the exhausted girls squelched off the pitch, Samantha was certain there wasn't a clean inch left on her body. Though the game had been brutal and all the players, even Tori, were nearly indistinguishable under their coating of grime, Samantha was in a different league of filthiness. Where Tori had led, Slash, Jezebel, Nancy and numerous others had followed, and Samantha had spent far more of the game pinned helplessly in the mud beneath a heap of bodies than she had on her feet. By the end, even the girls supposedly on her side had been piling in. At first she'd tried to fight back, but the odds had been hopeless, and she'd fairly soon given up on that idea. Mr Pink's only contribution had been to blame her for deliberately collapsing a scrum and deduct five points from Kovarian House. Not even Gwendoline, who certainly hadn't been immune from the others' gentle attentions, could compare to the appalling state Samantha found herself in at the final whistle. 

"Are you all right?" Gwendoline asked, falling in with her as they made their way back to the changing rooms. There was no danger of their being overheard; Tori was some distance away, rejoicing in her team's performance and exchanging high-fives with her hangers-on. 

"I've got bruises all over," Samantha said. "And muck everywhere, and I mean _everywhere_. Tori and her crew just don't stop, do they?" 

"She doesn't mind getting her hands dirty." Gwendoline shrugged. "They were so busy with you I got off lightly this week. I usually end up like you are now." 

"How d'you cope with it?" 

"I'm the daft girl they play pranks on. I try to keep things that way. If they're laughing at me they're not doing worse." Gwendoline pushed her mud-caked hair out of her face. "At least this stuff washes off." 

"Doesn't mean I've got to like it," Samantha said. "That Slash shoved about twenty tons of oomska down my neck and up my—" 

"Sam, listen. What Tori and her gang have done to you so far is just — well, teasing, by their standards. Tori still thinks you're her friend Cleo and just need putting in your place. If she finds out you're not... she just better hadn't, that's all. And she's not the only one. Cleo's made a lot of enemies in this school." Gwendoline paused, and looked nervously around her. "You need to get back to your universe before someone finds out." 

"I know. But I don't see how. It was something Ted Maxtible was doing in the physics lab that got me here. Dunno what. Maybe if Pat and the others can work out how to do it backwards, they can pull us back. I suppose." 

"Then I wish you the best of luck, Sam. You'll need it." Gwendoline winced. "In Mairon's name, you'll need it." 

⁂

By the time Samantha had finally got the last of the mud out of her hair and emerged from the showers, which had long since run out of hot water, it was well into the afternoon break and the changing room was almost empty. Not completely, though. Jezebel, who'd finished showering and changed back into her uniform ages before, was leaning against the lockers with her usual air of casual impudence. 

"Great game, wasn't it, Cleo?" she said. "Wish I'd got some snaps of you. You really were a picture." 

"Yeah, well, it's all part of the game, isn't it?" Samantha said, trying to sound equally casual. 

"Sure. As long as you don't make eyes at Hamish, that's all it is." Jezebel turned and looked into the mirror above the nearest handbasin, as if to make sure her own spiky hairdo had recovered from the rigours of the game. "You've got a cushy number with us, Cleo. Don't ruin it." 

She drifted elegantly away. Samantha shrugged, and set about donning her own uniform. Before she'd finished, though, Gwendoline tapped her on the shoulder. 

"I think you might have dropped your keys," she said meekly. "By the last washbasin on the left." 

"Not mine, Wendy," Samantha said, conscious that anyone on the other side of the row of lockers might hear what they were saying. "Go and bother someone else." 

She finished dressing, then made her way cautiously to the washbasin Gwendoline had mentioned. The mirrors were still fogged; looking in them, it was scarcely possible to make out more than the vaguest outline. And, written in the condensation in the top right-hand corner, the word ƧAM. 

Cautiously, Samantha reached out and touched the lettering. It seemed to be on the far side of the glass, if that made any sense. And she noticed that the dim, reflected silhouette was only now raising its hand, carefully shaping words with its finger. 

ꟼHYƧICS LAB. 1715. ᙠE THERƎ WITHOUT ᖷAIL. GWƎN. 

Samantha scrawled a hasty OK on her side of the glass. The figure nodded, and ducked out of view. Samantha turned away, then returned to the mirror and wiped her towel across its surface. The condensation cleared, leaving her own worried face looking back at her. 

⁂

Even after the threats Tori had issued, Samantha knew she had to risk speaking to Jamie. She found him not too far from the boys' changing rooms, walking with an undeniable limp. 

"What happened to you?" she asked. 

"We were playing hockey," Jamie said. "What d'ye think happens when you give a gang of clabastairean like that great big wooden sticks?" 

"Ouch." Samantha gave him a sympathetic look. "Was it that Nik who did it? He looks a nasty piece of work." 

"No, some great brid called Brian who kept shouting all the time. Not your brother: I think this one's what they've got here instead of Pat. But they're all nasty pieces of work. Did you get hurt?" 

"Just bruises," Samantha said. "And Tori and her gang pretty much buried me alive, but Gwendoline says by her standards that's just teasing." She glanced around hastily. "Listen, I need to tell you. We've got to be at the physics lab at quarter past five." 

"That's when they can bring us back?" 

"I just hope so." 

"And until then we stay out of trouble. It'd not do to end up in detention." 

"Yeah, I bet detention here's no picnic." Samantha gritted her teeth. "Pity. I'd like to do something about that Tori." 

The expression that came into Jamie's eyes was one that Samantha was all too familiar with: he was running through his extensive knowledge of pranks, schemes and jolly japes. "Maybe we can," he said casually. 

"I don't see how we can stop her racket," Samantha said. "But even taking her down a peg or two, that'd be something." She jumped as the bell sounded its mournful note. "Catch you later," she said, planted an impulsive kiss on Jamie's cheek, and hurried off to her next lesson. 

⁂

To Samantha's slight relief, the next lesson was mathematics. It wasn't by any means her favourite subject, but at least numbers should work the same way from one universe to the next. A glance at Cleo's history textbook, which began with King Hardrada's victory at the battle of Hastings, had been enough to convince her that she'd have exposed her ignorance in seconds. 

What was less comforting was that she was sharing a desk with Slash, who'd obviously been smoking again in the break, and possibly not confined herself to tobacco. Between randomly kicking Samantha, defacing her books, copying her work, and stabbing the desk with a pair of compasses, she gave every impression of being one wrong word away from a full-on psychotic episode. As Samantha had come to expect, there would be no help from the teacher. Mr Lethbridge-Stewart was happy to turn his blind eye in their direction, while he strayed away from the text of his lesson to reminisce about suppressing native uprisings in colonial territories. 

"Oi!" Slash hissed, while Mr Lethbridge-Stewart was in full flow burning some unfortunate tribe's village to the ground. "Want some?" 

She gestured to the open bag at her feet. Between the battered, graffiti- covered exercise books, Samantha caught a glimpse of a small bottle and something beside it that might have been a syringe. 

"I'm good, thanks," she whispered back, and realised at once that was exactly the wrong thing to have said. 

"Suit yourself." Slash zipped the bag shut, and seemed to think no more of the matter. But for the rest of the lesson, she seemed to tire of bullying Samantha, spending more time gazing absently into the middle distance. It might just have been an effect of whatever mental state she was in; but Samantha rather feared she had given Slash too much food for thought. 

On the plus side, the comparative lack of distractions made it easier for Samantha to follow her own train of thought. Everything here — at least, everything that she'd come up against so far — came back to Tori, one way or the other. And Tori, in turn, depended on her collection of blackmail material. Where could she have hidden it, and hidden it so well that nobody, in this school of sneaks and spies, could find it? 

She turned the question around in her head. Victoria, in her world, was so open and honest that the question of her deliberately hiding anything was ludicrous. But there had been that time when Jamie had borrowed her biology textbook, and somehow managed to lose it without knowing how... 

_Yeah_ , Samantha thought. _That could be—_

Slash chose that moment to throw a vicious punch at her, and for the moment Samantha was forced to postpone her line of enquiry.


	5. Chapter 5

_Five to five_ , Samantha thought. _Not much time._

It had taken her long enough to get away from Slash and make sure none of Tori's other henchgirls, let alone Tori herself, were covertly following her. There had then been a further agonising delay until she'd spotted Gwendoline setting out for the bus stop. 

Samantha braced herself, and tried to walk across the schoolyard as if she owned the place. Or strut, to use Gwendoline's word. Sooner or later someone else would catch on that she wasn't Cleo — Slash was halfway there already — but until then, her only hope was to make use of her counterpart's reputation as a bully. 

"Wendy!" she called, in the tones of a sergeant-major. "Yeah, you. Here, girl." 

Gwendoline jumped, but made no protest as she meekly hurried across to where Samantha was standing. Nor did she make any remark as Samantha marched her back into the school and through its corridors, until they Samantha came to a halt by the door she wanted. 

"Sam!" Gwendoline squeaked. "We can't go in there. That's the boys'—" 

"Exactly." Samantha took a firm hold of Gwendoline's arm. "But Tori and her mates can go where they like, can't they?" 

She kicked the door open. The lavatory appeared to be nearly deserted except for one unfortunate boy standing in front of a urinal. 

"Hop it, kid," Samantha said. "Or you'll never piss standing up again." 

Ricky Smith — for it was he — fled, fumbling desperately with his trouser zip. 

"Here." Samantha more or less dragged Gwendoline into the third cubicle from the end wall, and slammed the door behind them. "Now get up on the seat and make a back." 

"Eurgh," Gwendoline moaned, trying to balance above the noisome lavatory while minimising her contact with it. 

"Better than having Tori shove our heads down there," Samantha said. "Ready?" 

She clambered onto Gwendoline's back, and walked her hands up the wall until she reached the ancient, cobweb-encrusted cistern. It was bolted to the wall, but the bolts were just as old and rusty as she'd hoped. A firm tug — which nearly sent them both crashing to the floor — and the cistern rocked forward on its mountings, exposing a dark void in the wall behind it. Samantha slipped her hand in, and felt her fingers close around damp plastic. 

There were footsteps outside, and the cheerful sounds of two teenage boys discussing some murderous variant of football. Moving as quickly as she dared, Samantha extracted the plastic-wrapped bundle, pushed the cistern back into place, and perched uncomfortably on the front of the toilet seat while Gwendoline crouched behind her. Fortunately, the two visitors — one she recognised as Mike Yates, while the other, unknown to her, seemed to be called 'Jack' — only made a brief visit, and to her disgust didn't even bother to wash their hands before leaving. 

As soon as the coast was clear, Samantha and Gwendoline made their escape. The briefest glance at Samantha's prize was enough to confirm that here was Tori's archive of blackmail material: a pink scrapbook, decorated with roses, and wrapped in plastic to protect it from the damp. She flipped through it, nodding to herself at the sight of letters, photocopies, snapshots, all neatly annotated in Tori's copperplate handwriting. 

"How did you know?" Gwendoline asked, still pale and shaking from their adventure. 

"In my world Jamie borrowed a textbook off Victoria," Samantha said. "That's our Hamish and Tori. He hid it on top of the cistern for a joke, but the next morning it had gone. Mr Jackson the caretaker found it months later. Turned out someone pulled the chain so hard the cistern came away from the wall and the book went down behind it. Don't suppose it happened quite like that in this world." 

"No-one would play tricks on Tori. Not even Hamish." 

"Then it's about time someone did. Anyway, I suppose she was nosing around and found the place. No-one'd think of a girl hiding something in the boys' bogs." 

"Or even going in there." Gwendoline grimaced. "It was foul." 

"Like you said, she doesn't mind getting her hands dirty." Samantha looked at her watch. "Anyway, got to run. Hope things get a bit better for you." 

"They won't," Gwendoline said. "But thank you anyway, Samantha." 

⁂

Jamie had reached the lab first, and held up a warning hand as Samantha appeared in the doorway. 

"Step across it," he said. "Don't trip." 

Samantha looked down, and spotted the barely-visible fishing wire stretched across the doorway at calf height. Having taken a suitably large and careful step over the threshold, she looked up. A plastic bin hung precariously at an angle from the ceiling, its mouth pointing in the direction of the doorway. 

"You've been busy," she said. "What's in that?" 

"You'll see," Jamie said. "If we're still here when she comes." 

"D'you think she will?" 

"I got Mary Lopez to write a note like it was from you, saying you'd meet me here now. And I made sure Nik saw it. Aye, I think she'll come." 

"If I had the time I'd kiss you." Samantha was already rummaging in a cupboard. "But I've got to get this done first." 

Jamie shot her a curious glance. "What have you got there, then?" 

"Nothing much." Samantha extracted a stand from the cupboard and closed the jaws of its clamp on the scrapbook. Setting the stand on a workbench, she took a Bunsen burner from the cupboard and rammed its tube onto the nearest gas tap. "Only Tori's crown jewels. And I'm gonna burn them right in front of—" She froze in horror. "Matches! Have you got any?" 

Jamie shook his head. "Try your satchel. Maybe your Cleo smokes." 

Samantha upended the satchel, spreading its contents across the floor, and snatched a cigarette lighter from the litter. "Might have known. Right, here goes." 

She turned the gas tap and snapped the lighter over the burner, until a yellow tongue of flame appeared at its apex. Even as she turned the ring at the burner's base, and the flame shrank into a hard blue cone, the click of high heels could be heard approaching down the corridor. A moment later, a small, familiar, demure silhouette appeared in the doorway. 

"Cleo!" Tori's voice said, cool and refined and deadly as ever. "And darling Hamish as well, I see. I have been very patient with both of—" 

"Hey, Tori," Samantha called back. "Look what I found." 

She pushed the Bunsen burner into position under where the scrapbook hung on its stand. 

Perhaps under normal circumstances, Tori would have been more cautious. But with her mind full of nothing more than her greatest treasure in peril, she dashed forward. Her leg caught on the tripwire, the bin abruptly tipped, and a torrent of viscous purple liquid descended on her. She shrieked, flailed for balance, slipped, and made an ungainly landing on her backside. 

"Blimey," Samantha said. The scrapbook was by now well ablaze; she picked up a second clamp and began to beat at the mass of paper, ensuring that no half-burned fragments would survive. "Are you gonna say what that stuff is now?" 

"Paint," Jamie said. "Well, mostly." 

With the aid of a nearby lab stool, Tori finally managed to drag herself to her feet. Frantically, she pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve, wiped at her eyes, and conducted a hasty inventory of the damage. 

"My hair!" she wailed. "My jacket! My _shoes_!" Then she caught sight of the blazing remains of her scrapbook, and the blood drained from her face, the blobs and streaks of paint standing out jarringly against her sallow complexion. Her expression one of sickly disintegration, she stared at the flames with brimming eyes. 

"My precious," she whispered. "Cleo, why? With that book I— _we_ had everything! And you've b-b-burned..." 

"If you've got to ask why, there's no point telling you," Jamie said. 

For a moment, Tori seemed to waver; then, as the colour began to return to her face, her expression of despair gave way to something grimmer. Kicking off her ruined shoes, she advanced across the lab, leaving a trail of sticky purple footprints in her wake. 

"You're going to _pay_ for this, Cleo Briggs," she hissed. 

Samantha shook her head. "I don't think so. Without that book, you're a busted flush." 

"Or maybe a flushed bust," Jamie added, with a grin. 

Tori, her eyes gleaming with something approaching madness, ignored him. "Maybe I'm going down. But in Thû's name I'm taking you down with me." She reached into the pocket of her paint-splattered jacket, and pulled out an ivory-handled flick knife. At her touch, its blade snapped into place, gleaming and wickedly sharp. "I won't kill you — that would be too lenient. When I'm done with you you'll be in a wheelchair like that Davril girl." 

Samantha struck the glowing embers of the book one last blow, enough to smash whatever was left to sparks, and then dodged around the other side of the workbench as Tori approached. 

"Hey, you put that down—" Jamie began, grabbing for the knife. Without taking her eyes off Samantha, Tori elbowed him in the chest, sending him reeling, then vaulted onto the bench and jumped down in front of Samantha. Her free hand shot out, grabbing Samantha by the collar as she tried to back away. 

"Enjoy your victory, Briggs," Tori snarled, drawing her knife back for a vicious thrust. "You treacherous little fuc—" 

Swirling silver light roared up around Samantha. 

❂

For the second time that day, Samantha opened her eyes to find she was lying on her back, with a sense of gradually-dispersing giddiness. A girl was leaning over her, pressing something to her chest. 

"Her heart's in the right place, at least," she said, and Samantha recognised the voice of Liz Shaw. 

"On the left?" Gwendoline's voice asked. 

"That's a myth: it's pretty much in the middle. But the left side's usually bigger — at least, it is if you're from this side of the mirror." Liz withdrew the stethoscope and straightened up. "Yes, I think we can say we've got the right ones back." 

"And only just in time," Samantha managed. She sat up, a glance telling her that she was back in her proper — and far more comfortable — uniform. And the concerned faces looking down at her definitely belonged to Victoria, Isobel and Zoë, not their nightmarish counterparts. A little way away, Gia was carefully packing the Jacob's Ladder away into a brass-bound wooden case. 

"Do you want to tell us what happened?" Victoria asked. 

Samantha took a deep breath. "I'll tell you if you like, But you mightn't like it when you hear it." 

"Just a moment," Jamie said. "What about Hamish and Cleo? They must have come here when we went, didn't they?" 

"That's right," Gia said, closing the wooden box. 

"Well, didn't they cause all sorts of trouble? Sam thinks yon Hamish was selling drugs, and Cleo—" 

"You're about to say she beat up younger girls for their dinner money," Zoë said. "We worked that out for ourselves. You see, she thought young Ace McShane would be an easy victim." 

"Ooh." Samantha winced. "Nasty." 

"I think Cleo was quite relieved to be rescued by the time we got to her," Zoë went on. "Anyway, Victoria and I persuaded her to keep her head down until we could get her back where she belonged. She seemed pretty scared of us. I know the literature says that bullies are often cowards, but even so..." 

"That's because she's used to you on the other side. You're this crazy Brummie psycho. And Victoria..." 

"Me?" Victoria asked innocently. 

"You're..." Samantha groped for a suitable description, and came up only with "Worse." 

"What about Hamish?" Jamie asked. 

"He didn't get on much better," Isobel said cheerfully. "He couldn't sell drugs because he hadn't got any, and then — talking of psychoes — he tried to shove Nyssa up against the wall and kiss her." 

Jamie stared. "And he was still in one piece afterwards?" 

"Only because he ran like the wind. We did have to get the prefects involved on that one. Bret put the fear of Maxil into him, and Sara talked Nyssa down. And that was that." 

"Did anyone over there work out who you were?" Gia asked. 

"Not a soul," Jamie said. 

"Really? I'd have thought I'd have guessed." 

"In the other world you're a thick greebo with a head full of motorbikes," Samantha said. "And a boy, too. You never spotted a thing. No, the only one who twigged about me was Wendy. That's what they call Gwendoline over there," she added, seeing the blank faces. 

"Me?" Gwendoline, who'd been hovering at the fringes of the group, leaned forward in surprise. "I _am_ sensitive, of course. But I can't imagine ever letting people call me 'Wendy.' It sounds terribly common." 

"I don't see anything wrong with it," Zoë said, sounding a little offended. 

⁂

"Do you think we made a difference?" Samantha asked. She was sitting with Jamie on the nearly-deserted top deck of the number 42 bus, as it trundled a circuitous route through the periphery of Nameless. There were far quicker ways of getting home — even walking would have stood a good chance — but after the events of the day, the slow bus ride was giving them some much-needed time to unwind. 

"You mean, in the mirror world?" Jamie asked. 

"Yeah." Samantha rested her head on his shoulder. "I don't think we actually made anyone's life better." 

"We made Tori's life a whole lot worse," Jamie said. "And probably Cleo and Hamish, too, when she catches up with them. Maybe that'll make it easier for everyone else." 

"Maybe. Or maybe it'll just end up like it was before, with Slash or Nik or Nancy or someone else on top of the heap." 

"We couldn't have done more, Sam." Jamie put his arm round her shoulders. "Just getting out in one piece was hard enough." 

"S'pose so. And we did take Tori down. I didn't think we could even do that." She smiled at him. "I couldn't have done it without you, Jamie. Any of it." 

"That'll be why you kissed me, then?" Jamie said. 

"Yeah. And other reasons." She winked at him. "Want to do it again?" 

Jamie needed no second prompt, and for some minutes conversation fell into abeyance. 

"Hang on," Samantha said, abruptly disengaging from their embrace. "That was my stop we just went past, wasn't it?" 

"Mill Way? Aye, that was it." 

"You should've told me!" 

"You seemed like you'd got other stuff on your mind." 

"Jamie McCrimmon, there are times you can be an absolute beast." Samantha darted at him and nipped his ear. "Now what'll I do?" 

"We'll have to go round again, of course." Jamie pulled her back towards him. "You don't mind staying on the bus with me all that time?" 

Despite herself, Samantha giggled. "Suppose it'll do. For starters."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Time Round was created by Tyler Dion.  
> Then Do That Over was created by Paul Gadzikowski.  
> Otherside was created by K. Michael Wilcox.


End file.
